It was not moved. And the windows—I bolt them and turn the bolt at a certain angle. No human touched them."
It was not possible to believe that this man could be mistaken. One could see with what care he had set his little traps—the bar across the door precisely at a certain hidden line; the bolts of the window shutters turned precisely to an angle that he alone knew. It was not likely that Randolph would suggest anything that this cautious old man had not already thought of.
"Then," continued Randolph, "the thief concealed himself in your house the day before the robbery and got out of it on the day after."
But again Betts shook his head, and his eyes ran over the house and to a candle on the mantelpiece.
"I look," he said, "every night before I go to bed."
And one could see the picture of this old, fearful man, looking through his house with the smoking tallow candle, peering into every nook and corner. Could a thief hide from him in this house that he knew inch by inch? One could not believe it. The creature took no chance; he had thought of every danger, this one among them, and every night he looked! He would know, then, the very cracks in the wall. He would have found a rat.
Then, it seemed to me, Randolph entered the only road there was out of this mystery.
"Your son knew about this money?"